I've Got QBabe
by Rostand
Summary: The NX-01 has a visitor from everyone's favourite omnipotent conglomerate. Explosions and ridiculously short skirts ensue as the crew tries to deal with their strange new passenger. More to follow!
1. Invasion

**Author's Note:** This was inspired while watching "Death Wish" with Keita, and we started joking about what we would do with Q powers . . . horribly, horribly Mary-Sue-ish, but it demanded to be written. So you could say the inspiration was a combination of Voyager, Keita, leather whips, and Cher. Whee! 

"You look like the torg that swallowed a Klingon child," the drawl greeted them as they appeared, chortling, on the dusty two-lane highway. 

Q rolled his eyes as a slight female figure uncurled herself from one of the wicker chairs on the dilapidated gas station's porch and strutted to meet them, hands on her hips. He folded his arms across his chest and sighed. "Do you really need to know, Q?" 

"You've been playing with those human-things again, haven't you?" she said boldly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I have," he replied with as much dignity as he could muster. "Not that it's any of your business. Or the Continuum's, for that matter." 

She stretched and yawned theatrically. "I'm bored. I thought I might go and amuse myself with whatever so fascinates you two –" 

"No!" Q said, a bit too quickly. "Jean Luc's Enterprise is off-limits." 

"Maybe that one in the Delta Quadrant, then –" 

"Aunt Kathy is mine!" Q growled, and she laughed delightedly. 

"Oooh, what fun these humans must be to get the half-pint so worked up," the female Q cooed. "Very well, I'll leave your pet humans alone. Who else can I . . ." Her eyes widened and she grinned. The two male Q exchanged worried looks as she winked and said, "Hasta la vista, boys!" 

And abruptly vanished. 

*** 

There was a sudden ominous groaning and rattling from behind the bulkhead and Archer's eyebrows shot up. He rolled off his bed and padded to the door, slapping the com panel on the wall. "Archer to the bridge." 

{Yes, sir.} Mayweather's voice came immediately. 

"What was that?" 

{Minor spatial distortion, sir.} Travis replied, sounding a bit strained. {There's a thick patch of them we're attempting to fly through, so we might graze one every once in a while.} 

"Send the ship to yellow alert until we're passed them," Archer replied. "And keep any non-essential personnel towards the interior of the ship. Let me know if the situation changes." 

{Of course, captain.} 

Archer sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was beginning to get heartily sick of this endless Expanse. No matter how fascinating T'Pol found it, Archer preferred his physics to obey their own laws. 

"But why? It's so much more fun when they don't!" a laughing female voice came from behind him, and he whirled to face the intruder. A woman in Starfleet uniform was perched primly on the edge of his bed, her eyes sparkling with mirth and a large, faintly malicious grin on her face. As he stared at her, open-mouthed, she laughed and flicked her substantial mass of curly golden-brown hair back over her shoulder, and he noticed that her uniform had the insignia of a captain. 

"Who are you?" he demanded, surreptitiously backing up to open a com channel with the weight of his shoulder blade. 

"You may call me Q," she said, sounding regally magnanimous, a faint snotty British tone creeping into her voice. 

"What are you?" Archer asked, still uncertain. 

"I am Q!" she replied, the British accent still in full force, now sounding painfully fake, and giggled at the expression on his face. Then she cocked her head suddenly. "Now, now, my dearest Archer, don't go yodelling for Malcolm. You never do when he is needed, anyway." 

The captain suddenly found himself on the other side of the room. "What do you want?" Archer said, wary now and slightly afraid. 

"I was bored," she replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "I'm feeling better already." 

"Get off my ship!" he growled. 

She laughed again, a tinkling sort of laughter, that made him very nervous indeed. "Not quite yet, I think." 

Like a spring uncoiling, he lunged for the com panel, not realizing that she could follow his every move, and almost shouted, "Archer to the bridge!" 

Behind him, that fairy laugh again, and a poof of green smoke, and he was standing on the bridge. Mayweather abruptly rose from the helm, as did Malcolm, and the other officers on duty. Archer blinked, then turned to see the strange woman – Q – lounging in his seat. "I live but to serve," she drawled, British accent completely vanished. She bounced a few times, ignoring the crewmen who gaped at her, and the slow movements of Malcolm as he pulled a phase pistol out from under his console. Frowning, she stood and dusted off her bum, before turning to inspect the chair itself. Taking the opportunity of her back being turn, Malcolm swung the phase pistol up and around, firing in one fluid motion. Without turning, Q flapped one hand vaguely, and the bolt stopped. Not disappeared. Just stopped. 

Malcolm swallowed and stepped down, inspecting the perfectly stationary red line that hung in the air, before snapping his attention back to the major threat as she sighed and flapped her hand again. Abruptly and with an ornate blast of green smoke, the functional padded plastic captain's chair was replaced by a gigantic pile of comfortable chintz cushion in outrageous and clashing colours that reminded Malcolm of Trip's rather unfortunately taste in shirts. With an elaborate sigh, she flopped onto the pillows. "Much better. Captain, dear, you really must consider redecorating." Before the captain could open his mouth to say anything, she fixed her eyes on the armoury officer. 

"It's very rude to shoot a lady in the back, don'tchaknow," she said cheerfully, fake British accent back with a vengeance, and Malcolm winced. "Very unsporting. Nice reflexes, though, I must say. Other nice attributes, too," she added with a leer. 

"Captain –" Malcolm began plaintively, and Archer cut him off with a nod. 

"Alright, Q, what do you want with us?" 

"Amusement, old chap," she said, stretching languorously. "As I've told you before." 

"If you don't mind me asking," T'Pol broke in, calm as always, "But what species are you, Q?" 

"I am Q," she said slowly, as if speaking to small children. "Me Q. You human. Except for you," she said, casting a thoughtful eye over the sub-commander. "Vulcans. Hmm. Not much fun." She shrugged. "I'm omnipotent, don'tchaknow, old chaps!" 

Malcolm winced again at the horrendous accent, and the movement drew her eye like a shiny piece of tin foil. He backed up a step and raised the phase pistol again as her eyes settled on him and a slow, faintly evil smirk spread across her face. He was beginning to be very, very afraid. 

"Oh, and with good reason I do assure you," she almost purred, then abruptly switched her attention away from him, stretching irritably. "Damn coveralls . . . these things are really quite uncomfortable you know," she said conversationally to the captain, "Bugger the whole 'when in Rome' thingummy." Q cocked her head. "Still, something you might recognize . . ." She flapped her hand vaguely again and there was another poof of green smoke. The pile of cushions was one, in its place a strange blocky-looking chair, and Q was now perched on it like a throne, wearing knee-high black leather boots and a scandalously short gold long-sleeved scoop-necked minidress that looked like something out of the sixties. She looked around the bridge triumphantly, but wilted at the confused expression on the entire crew's faces. She crossed her arms in a huff. "Oh, bloody hell. I've gone and gotten the timelines mixed up." Q sighed. "Ah well. This'll do as good as any other." 

Archer decided it was time he took the situation in hand. "Now see here, Q. This is my ship, and you will obey my rules while on it. I asked you what you're doing here, and all you've given me is riddles. Speak plainly." 

"I thought I was," she pouted. "I'm bored. Humans are fun. There we go." 

"Dammit Q, this isn't a game!" 

"A game!" her eyes widened with excitement and she clapped her hands delightedly. "What an excellent idea! Mal-Mal, will you play with me?" 

"I, er, uh –" Malcolm stammered, suddenly put on the spot, and Q just laughed again. 

"Of course you will! I go first!" 

Then she was gone and the bridge was more or less back to normal. Archer took a deep relieved breath and did the only thing he could think of to regain normalcy – start giving orders. "T'Pol, I want you to analyze the Xindi databanks, see if they know anything about this Q. Travis, full scans of the area. If she comes back, I want some warning. Malcolm, get to your station. I don't want to know what kind of games she's going to play with us. I'll be in my quarters if –" 

They never found out what the emergency would be, because Travis suddenly swore and instinctively ducked, and something bright green flashed past the viewscreen. 

"What the hell was that?" Archer demanded. 

"Weapons fire, sir!" Malcolm replied, looking down at his console. "The ship's cloaked, wherever it . . . is . . ." his voice trailed off as his mind registered what his eyes were seeing. His weapons console was the same as it was every day, with all his readings and ammo information still where it should be – except for the actually weapons controls. They had all disappeared, leaving only a grid, with letters down one side and numbers across the top. 

"Captain!" Travis said urgently, frantically pushing buttons and giving the sound editors heart palpitations, "The controls aren't responding! We're dead in the water!" 

"No we're not . . ." Malcolm said softly, eyes widening as he put together that fact with his console with the fact that the mystery ship hadn't fired again. "We're a battleship." 

Archer gaped at him. "As in . . . comma, you sunk my?" 

"Precisely, sir. It's our go." Malcolm said, glancing up at him. 

Archer's face was tight. He considered their options. "Are you any good at this game, Malcolm?" 

The armoury officer shrugged. "Not too bad. I can crush my sister any day of the week, and maybe even give Dad a run for his money." 

The captain nodded. "Make sure you win. If she sinks our battleship, I don't think red pegs will be the least of our worries." 

Malcolm's hand hovered over the keyboard, his eyes narrowing. Decisively, he poked a square, and announced it out loud, just for good measure. "G10." 

The torpedo sped away from the ship into nothingness. "Miss!" came a familiar triumphant voice. "E3!" 

"Miss!" Malcolm crowed, and realized that a smaller grid showed where the Enterprise was. "D7." 

"Miss! J8!" 

"Miss! F9!" 

There was a visible explosion on screen, and when Q's voice came, it was pouty. "Hit. Meanie." 

The entire bridge crew visibly relaxed. It appeared she had gone with the traditional five ship set up, and the Brit had worked his way through her entire fleet, while she only landed three shots on the Enterprise. As the last torpedo scored, Malcolm allowed himself to pump a fist in the air. "Yes! I sunk your battleship!" 

Archer could have sworn he heard a snicker from behind him, but when he turned, Hoshi was sitting at her station with an appropriate grave expression on her face. There was a faint sound behind him, and he whirled again, to see Q once again perched in his chair, a few tatters of green smoke hanging around her head. "Look, Q, we don't have time for this! We're on a very important mission –" 

She waved a hand flippantly, and everyone on the bridge winced then relaxed as nothing happened. "To find the Xindi, stop them from laying the smackdown on your precious Earth, seven million people, yada yada. Riiiight." 

His eyes narrowed suddenly. "How did you know that?" 

"I. Am. Om. Ni. Po. Tent." she said, exaggerating her mouth movement with each syllable. "I know everything." She cocked her head suddenly. "Q was right. You are an interesting species. Very single minded. I would very much have liked to know this Jean Luc he's always talking about. Ah well, you boys will have to do." She bounced slightly, the movement making the ridiculously short skirt ride up even more, revealing that she wore matching panties underneath. "What are we going to do next?" 

Archer gaped for words, not really knowing how to handle the situation, but T'Pol stepped in. "We were heading towards a colony that we were told is manufacturing part of the weapon that could destroy Earth." The Vulcan paused. "You would be – welcome to join us." 

Q laughed suddenly, throwing her head back and fairly vibrating. "Welcome to join you? As if you could stop me! Oooh, the Federation will be so amusing!" She snickered to herself, calming down slightly, and her eyes sparkled with glee and something else. "All right, my friends, I'll join you. See ya!" This time her disappearance was accompanied by a very, very faint, almost limp straggle of smoke. There was a faint, ghostly, "Oh poop!" and then she was gone. 

The bridge crew exchanged looks. This was going to be one very, very odd mission. 


	2. She's baaaaack

Very Public Relations Very Public Relations 

Malcolm groaned as collapsed face forward on to his narrow bed. He was tired and sore and the business with Soong was making him paranoid and irritable. Nine people gone and Archer was letting the doctor run around practically loose down there. Where, as an aside, Malcolm himself should be, instead of both of them. But Archer had practically confined him to quarters, to "rest", in his typical blustery, daring-do, glory-hogging wont. 

"Now that's what I like to hear," a chipper voice purred out of nowhere. 

Malcolm's lungs were abruptly compressed as a great weight settled on his back. He flailed, managing to dump it to one side as he turned, ending up on his back and peering up at the woman who had been sitting on his back. She was now settled with her back against the bulkhead and her bum nestled between him and the wall, her legs draped over her stomach and her gold minidress riding up to an even more scandalous length – or lack thereof. He sighed and dropped his head back to the thin pillow. 

"Q," he groaned. "First Soong, now you. They don't pay me enough." 

"Most definitely," she said, nodding emphatically and making her honeybrown curls bounce. "And Soong's right, you know." 

"Are you mad?" Malcolm demanded indignantly, propping himself up on his elbows to stare at her. "The man is a sociopath! You agree with his genetic engineering?" 

"No, not about that," Q replied, waving one hand dismissively. "Humanity has to improve itself through its own merits or else it's no fun. But Soong is right about two things," she declared, holding up three fingers. "You crew needs to get a sense of humour." This was said in Soong's voice, making Malcolm start. "And," she continued, normally. "You definitely need more publicity." She got a faraway look in her eyes, tapping a finger against her cheek. "Oh yes, that will do nicely – don't worry, Malcolm dearest, I'll take care of everything." 

Oh, that inspired confidence. Malcolm rolled his eyes and dropped back to the bed. 

"But first . . ." Q flapped her wrist vaguely, green smoke curled around her fingers, and Malcolm was immersed chest-deep in a steaming pool of water, fed by a bubbling hot spring. Q was lounging across from him, luxuriating up to her neck, her curls fanning out around her. 

"Q!" Malcolm growled, standing and taking a step towards her. His furious tirade died on his lips at her sudden lascivious smirk and arched eyebrows. He flushed, realizing that his clothes hadn't come along for the ride. He dropped back into the water up to his neck and glared. 

"I have to be back on duty at any moment," he said. "Get me out of here." 

Q rolled her eyes. "Mal, darling, you're in the finest resort in the galaxy, and you want to leave?" 

"Yes." 

Her voice acquired a wheedling tone. "Mal . . . it pains me to see you so drawn. You deserve this. And I promise I'll bring you right back to the moment we left. Pwease?" 

Malcolm's willpower dissolved and he yielded to temptation. "Fine." He moved back in the water so he was lounging against the wide, smooth stones. 

Q bounced slightly in the water, clapping her hands in delight. She snapped her fingers and four attractive young women of various humanoid species appeared from a walkway hidden in the trees. "These ladies will take care of you," she said expansively. "I've got some business to take care of . Enjoy yourself!" 

There was a poof of green smoke and a faint ripple in the pool, and she was gone. 

One very long soak, several vaguely alcohol beverages, and three massages later, Malcolm fell asleep, warm and oh so very relaxed. He woke with a start, feeling like he had just gotten a full night's rest, when the comm beeped. He slapped the button, rolling out of bed in his clean and pressed uniform. 

"Reed." 

"Mal, Cap'n's back," Trip drawled. 

"On my way down." 

Soong had been delivered to his new prison, and Malcolm was glad that walking security breach was finally Someone Else's Problem. That was why he couldn't think of any reason for Archer to be calling him into his ready room, but so the Captain was. He stood, back stiff as usual, before the Captain's desk, wondering at the faint smirk that seemed to be escaping Archer's best efforts to suppress. 

"You wished to see me, sir?" 

"Yes, Malcolm. Starfleet has just been in contact with me, and they want to know exactly what you were doing with your downtime on Earth." 

Malcolm's brow furrowed. "I didn't do much of anything, really. Caught up on my reading. Why, sir?" 

"You might want to catch up on some of these, then," Archer said, dropping a pile of glossy magazines in front of the lieutenant. Malcolm glanced down at them, and he groaned internally. 

'Malcolm Reed: Ladies' Man' read one of the girly magazine covers. '50 Candid Shots of Starfleet's Sexiest Man' read another. 'Sex in Zero-G: Tips from the Top', 'Reed: The Man, the Myth, the Legend', and so on, and so forth, every major title seemed to be running a story on him. Q's eerie impression of Soong floated back to him. 

"More publicity," he murmured. "I am going to kill that woman." 

Archer didn't appear to have heard him, but was too busy chuckling at another he held in his hand. "Don't forget about this one," he said, handing it to Malcolm, who took it with trepidation. 'Enterprise Gunman's Wild Shoreleave Sex Romp: Exclusive Photos Inside!" blared the tabloid, nicely accentuated with a picture of a very shocked looking Malcolm, holding up a hand to ward off the camera. A starburst proclaimed 'Guys and girls tell all!' 

"**_Q!_**" 


End file.
